“I want to hate you,” I rasp as I move between her legs. My cock is hard as a bat. “Don’t you see, Isabel, it’s better for you if I do.”

Her naked thighs are trembling. I push them apart and plunge my tongue inside her. She gasps and arches toward me.

“But I’ll be fucked if I can stay away from you. Hard as I try.” Jesus, she tastes sweet as she writhes on my tongue. Her clit is hard, pulsing. She’s soaking wet. Her hips thrust upward, needing my mouth on her, and I devour her, kissing, caressing, licking, as she moans and thrashes on the bed. I slip two fingers inside her, stroking and caressing until I find the spot that drives her wild. She tenses and cries out.

“You’re mine, Isabel,” I growl. My hot breath teases the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh and she shudders. She’s already so close, and I can hardly wait to fuck her. My cock’s so hard it hurts. If I don’t get inside her soon, I’m going to shoot my load in my pants like a fucking teenager.

“Tell me you’re mine,” I insist.

She moans and clutches at the sheets. “I’m yours,” she pants. “Oh, God, Thorn, please, I’m so close…”

“All of you. Your body is mine. Your pussy is mine. Everything. Mine.”

“Yes…” she whispers, and then, all at once, her whole body freezes. A second later, she shatters, her orgasm ripping through her like wildfire. She keeps coming as I pull her toward me. I flip her over on her back, onto her knees, and bury myself deep inside her, up to the hilt. Jesus, she’s so hot, so wet… I know exactly how it’s going to feel now when I push inside her, but it’s still a shock that it’s always better than I think it’s going to be. Isabel’s head is pressed against the pillow but she pushes her hips back and meets me thrust for thrust, urging me deeper, her channel clutching my dick. I speed up, because I can’t wait, I need to come inside her. One of my hands grabs her hip, hard and bruising, the other wraps her long hair around my fist. She’s whimpering, but then the whimpers change to loud cries of pleasure and I know she’s about to come again. “Come for me, baby,” I croon as I feel my balls start to tighten.

“Thorn, I’m coming…” she mewls. Her channel contracts, and that’s all it takes to send me over the edge. I thrust once more and explode, claiming her, coming so hard and so long I fill her up to the hilt with everything I’ve got. Jesus Christ, it feels better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

I stay inside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into the curve of me as I fall down onto the bed. We’re both panting, breathing in rhythm, and it feels like even our heartbeats are in sync with one another. I can’t talk, don’t want to say what’s on the tip of my tongue, because it’s shit I’ve never said to any woman. It’s shit you can’t take back once you’ve said it.

Isabel’s mine. I’ve told her that.

But I’m not prepared to tell her the rest.

That I’m hers, as well.

* * *

The next day, I’ve had enough of fucking waiting around. I ring Oz for an update. For once, he actually has something to tell me.

“I’ve been waiting for your call,” he mutters into the phone. “I think I’ve figured out who the mole is in my organization. A traitorous snake named Playboy.” Oz’s voice instantly transforms to the cold-as-ice tone I’ve heard him use once or twice. It’s a voice that should strike fear into the heart of any man it’s directed toward. “I’m going to torture it out of him. And then, I’m going to kill him.”

“If the guy I ended at our safe house is any indication, you won’t get much.” This Playboy must be a fuckin’ idiot if he’s put himself between two men as dangerous as Oz and Fowler. Either way, he’s gonna be toast when one or the other finds out his cover is blown. I’d almost feel sorry for the guy, except he deserves everything that’s coming to him.

I’m about to respond to Oz when suddenly, I get an idea.

“How sure are you he’s the one feeding intel to Fowler?” I ask him.

“Almost positive.”

“And he doesn’t know that you know.”

“Not yet.” I hear his lip curl in disgust.

“Hold off, Oz. I have a better idea.”

I tell him it’s time to push this thing to its logical conclusion. “It’s time to stop playing defense and go on the offense. To end Fowler and his organization, and take care of this threat once and for all.”

And what I have in mind starts with the mole.

“Start talking to your club about the situation with Isabel, when the mole is there and can hear you,” I say. “Tell them I’ve betrayed you. That I’ve abandoned Isabel. Say that she’s called you, and that she’s terrified and all alone in a cabin in Michigan. She’s begging you to come get her. Tell them you’re looking for someone to come up here, get her and bring her back home to you.”

“The mole.”

“Exactly. Make sure you stress that Isabel is alone. Isolated. That she has no defense.”

Oz is silent for a moment. Then: “You think Fowler will come after her himself.”

“Yes. I do,” I affirm. “He’s been waiting for weeks to get his hands on her. Knowing she’s completely alone and there for the taking is likely to be just the lure he needs. It’s the best way to get him out in the open. Maybe the only way.”

“I will send my entire club.” Oz’s voice is thick with rage and the thirst for revenge.

“No.” I stop him. “You put me in charge of her, Oz. You have to let me do this my way.”

“This man is threatening me. And my family.” Oz’s anger brooks no argument. But fuck it. I know the way this has to go. And I’m not taking no for an answer.

“No,” I repeat, louder this time. “Not your club. Mine.”

“Yours?” His tone makes it clear he’s about to refuse.

“It has to be the Lords for this to work, Oz.” I’m not going to budge on this, and he needs to know it. “I’ve fought with them. Bled with them. I know my brothers, and they know me. If you throw men we haven’t worked with into it, you put all of us in danger. Including Isabel.”

Oz is silent, weighing my words. I’m almost sure he’s going to continue arguing. But some star must be looking down on me for once in my life, because he ends up relenting.

“You’ll get Isabel out of there before this happens. I don’t want her put at risk,” he warns. It’s not a question.

“Of course. She’ll be safe. I give you my word.”

It’s a small lie. But it doesn’t matter. I do intend to keep Isabel safe, no matter what. Beyond that, Oz doesn’t need to know anything else. All he needs to know is, I’m going to take care of Fowler, for good. Me and my club.

“All right,” he finally growls. “But I do not think I have to tell you what the consequences will be if this goes bad.”

It’s a threat. More than that, it’s a promise.

If this goes wrong, the alliance between our clubs will be broken.

I may pay for it with my life.

Most importantly, though: Isabel will be hurt. Raped, for sure. Probably killed.

But I know — I know it in my bones — that I’m the best shot of her staying alive.

And if Isabel is killed, I don’t want to live, anyway.

“No,” I say. “You don’t.”

I ring Rock from a clean burner. My prez hasn’t heard from me in a while, so I spend some time filling him in on the details of what I know. I tell him our location, and what I want to put in place to catch Fowler and his men.

“You’re expecting Fowler to show up himself?” Rock asks.

“Yeah. Hoping. And I’m guessing he’ll have men with him, but if we’re lucky he won’t suspect anything. Still, we’ll need as many Lords as you can spare. And they’ll need to get up here without being followed. I’d bet money Fowler has people watching the club.”

Rock grunts. “And when we get up there?”

“We kill them. Fowler first, and everyone else with him.”

If I expect any pushback from Rock, I don’t get it. Instead, I can practically hear his grin through the phone.

“Been a little quiet around here since you’ve been gone, Thorn,” he chuckles. “Looks like that’s about to end. I’ll call church and tell the Lords what to get ready for. Phone me back tomorrow morning and we’ll get everything in place.”